


All I Have and More

by sweet_poeia



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Kid Fic, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:18:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweet_poeia/pseuds/sweet_poeia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kris always knew he was meant to be a father.  Adam wanted to wait.  And then, he didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Have and More

**Author's Note:**

> This is me rolling around in the idea of Adam being a father. There is little in the way of plot. A series of vignettes, connected by a thin silken strand to Sugar Rush.
> 
> Beta by susysunflower.

There were a few things regarding his personal preferences that Kris had to sort out when he was young, but he always knew for sure that he was meant to be a father. He was a natural with kids and babies, and when he imagined his future it always included dance recitals and Little League.

When he fell in love with Adam, who was an extraordinary creature indeed but did not come equipped with a uterus, Kris had a momentary fluttering of concern, until he remembered Elton John and Neil Patrick Harris. No worries. Of course they could have a family.

Even before they had reached _that stage_ , the one where they would talk about forever and babies and things, Kris would imagine it. A baby would look so tiny and safe in Adam’s arms. He imagined Adam singing lullabies and spoiling their kids. He would be the biggest softy, Kris thought fondly.

When they did reach _that stage_ , the forever part was a given, but the baby part was a little more complicated; at least it was for Adam. He was completely honest with Kris, because Adam was always honest, and said that he just wasn’t sure, that he wanted to wait. Maybe someday, he said. Maybe.

Kris looked at Adam’s worried blue eyes and knew the “maybe” was solely for Kris’s sake, that this was unexplored territory for Adam.

Kris experimentally revised his future: Adam, music, nieces and nephews, godchildren. He felt an awful ache inside, but he pushed it aside. The alternative, a future without Adam, caused more than an ache; it made him feel eviscerated. He held on tight to maybe and kept on loving Adam.

One Sunday morning, Adam made the ache disappear completely when he looked into Kris’s eyes and said with utter conviction, “I wanted to wait. And now, I don’t.”

Then Adam insisted they have sex as much as possible, to move things along.

Adam wasn’t even joking. He felt that creating an atmosphere of intense love would signal the universe and everything would fall into place. Kris wasn’t so sure about that, but he kept his doubts to himself and approached the venture with enthusiasm, because, well. Adam.

Adam’s plan worked. They found the perfect surrogate, a woman named Marianne, and then the perfect anonymous egg donor. The egg was fertilized with a mixture of their sperm and implanted in Marianne with the kind of speed and success the doctors had told them never, ever happened.

Adam was a little smug about it, but Kris didn’t mind.

“You know,” Kris observed, “my sperm are no match for yours. Think how much taller they must be.”

“Oh, come on. You have stealth sperm. They swim along quietly under the radar, and then BAM! Bullseye. I want a little pocket-sized baby with big brown eyes.”

Kris hoped for freckles and ocean blue eyes. Marianne craved French Silk ice cream; Kris saw this as a good sign.

At night they lay together and debated names. Kris whispered them against Adam’s neck. When goose bumps appeared on Adam’s back and arms, they added that name to the list.

“Nesting,” Adam teased when Kris put latches on the cabinets and bought gates for the stairs. “You know we won’t need those for a while, right?”

“I know. I just want everything to be in place,” Kris said as he snipped the cords on the blinds and covered the outlets.

The room beside theirs filled with gifts: the old rocking chair Leila had used to lull her boys to sleep, a quilt sewn from Kris’s baby clothes, a tiny Grateful Dead dancing bears t-shirt. Neil e-mailed regular updates about the treehouse he was building in the Arkansas backyard where Kris had played years ago. “Me and Daniel begged him for a treehouse for _years_ ,” grumbled Kris, but he couldn’t suppress his grin.

Allison learned to knit for the occasion, and she sent rainbow hued socks from every city on her tour.

Katy squealed when Kris told her the news over the phone. He figured if she was still that excited about babies after having two sets of twins in four years, parenthood must be pretty awesome. Katy and Charles (and Kitty and Karli and Chip and Charlotte) sent them a Baby Bjorn and a Boppy.

Brad looked cross. “Now there’s absolutely no hope of ever getting you two to go out. You’ll just want to stay home and coo. Oh wait, you do that already.”

‘You know, Brad,” Kris said carefully, “this baby is not going to take your place. It’s like if there was a pie, and the pie represents the love Adam I feel, and each one of our friends has a slice of the pie.”

“Go on.”

“And...and the baby will need a lot of pie, of course, but that doesn’t mean we have to take your slice. The baby will have its own slice of pie.”

“But in order to do that, my piece will have to be smaller.”

“No!” Kris was beautifully earnest. “That’s the thing, there will just be _more_ pie!”

“Well. The baby’s piece will be bigger than mine.”

Kris didn’t answer.

“So here’s the thing,” Brad continued. “I’m decorating the nursery. I need your credit card.”

Kris handed it over. Brad had the number memorized anyway.

Brad kept the nursery door locked for a week. Kris looked for clues on Brad’s clothes and fingers--feathers, sequins, splashes of hot-pink paint--but found nothing of the sort. Not that he cared all that much about decorating much, but you know.

When Brad proudly unlocked the door for them, Kris was prepared to praise whatever glitzy spectacle awaited. He was not prepared, however, for the elegant, tranquil place Brad had created, shades of seaglass blue and chocolate brown, with real art on the walls because, Brad said, babies had more taste than most people gave them credit for.

Adam took in the room in silence, ran his fingers over the silk curtains, before turning to Brad. “Thank you,” he said softly. Brad’s answering smile was wistful.

“Well. You know,” said Brad.

“Yeah.” Adam pulled Brad in for a long hug. After a moment, Brad pressed a kiss to Adam’s shoulder, then kissed Kris soundly on both cheeks before he slipped out the door.

*

After a trip to Whole Foods began with what Neil Lambert called a “glampede” and ended with some particularly nasty baiting from the scurvier members of the press, Adam grew moody. He was silent on the drive home and disappeared after he helped Kris put away the groceries. A half hour later, Kris found him sitting on the steps that led down to the beach. Kris sat on the step behind him, thighs hugging Adam’s sides and chin resting on his shoulder. Adam’s hair was soft and loose today, hanging over eyes that Kris knew would be stormy grey.

He wrapped his arms around Adam and waited. Waited for the right moment to tell Adam that sure, it would be hard sometimes for their kids, that their family would have to fight for privacy and respect and things that most people took for granted. Waited to tell him that really, every human had some battles to fight growing up, and that those things helped shape a person. Waited to tell him that all those hard years Adam had growing up had helped shape him into the best man Kris has ever known.

After a time Adam relaxed against Kris, turned his face to playfully nip at Kris’s arm. “It’s gonna be all right, yeah? Gotta take it with the good.” He reached back to grab Kris’s thighs then stood, lifting him onto his back and galloping down the beach. Kris was laughing so hard he couldn’t hang on for long, and soon they were a tangled heap on the sand. It briefly crossed his mind that someone could be nearby with a camera. But honestly, as he looked up at Adam’s now clear blue eyes, he really didn’t care.

*

Marianne, cozily settled in the guest room for the last trimester, liked to relax in a corner sipping herbal tea whenever Kris and the guys were jamming in the living room. When Adam was home, he was always singing, and when Adam went on tour and called to check in from Russia or Japan or Australia, she would put the phone to her belly so that he could have a chat with his little one.

So the baby knew her fathers’ voices well by the time she was born. Knew the slow, resonant cadence of her daddy, the melodic, silken tone of her papa. She inspected them both calmly before drifting into a wise and dignified sleep against Kris’s chest, the tears on Adam’s cheek dampening her downy head.

“Oh, sweet baby girl,” murmured Marianne. “You have entered such a world of love.”

*

They named her Luciana, meaning _light_ , and Kris marveled at the perfection of the name they had chosen before they ever saw her luminous skin, her bright eyes.

The first days were a dream. Adam was entranced by Luciana’s kabuki-graceful hands and pursed lips. “Her _eyelashes_ ,” he said to Kris, astonished, and Kris knew exactly what he meant.

Adam watched as Kris cleaned her and changed her impossibly tiny diapers, and he soon became adept at that and other tasks, such as cleaning around her cord with an alcohol-soaked Q-tip and swaddling her in the striped hospital blankets.

“Like a burrito,” Kris instructed. “Nice and tight. Babies like to feel secure.”

“How do you know these things?”

“Just...experience? A lot of cousins, volunteering in the church nursery.” But Adam picked things up lightning-quick, and when it was time to leave the hospital, Kris was the one who hesitated.

“Maybe we should stay for another day. You know, just in case.” He liked being in a place where a nurse was just a button-push away.

They were sent on their way with assurance and indulgent smiles from the staff. Adam drove as though he were carrying explosives, as Lucy sucked contentedly on the end of Kris’s pinkie.

By the second day home, they had the ask-a-nurse hotline on speed dial. On the sixth day, Adam overheard Kris asking their favorite ask-a-nurse (the one who was endlessly patient and kind and never, ever laughed at their questions) if she would come live with them for a couple of months, just until they got the hang of things.

“Well?” Adam asked after he hung up.

“She said she can’t, she’s starting dental school.” Kris looked harried. “ _You_ should ask her! Women can’t say no to you!” He reached for the phone, but Adam distracted him with a kiss.

“Babe?” Adam discreetly tucked the phone under a cushion. “I think we’re getting the hang of things just fine.” He turned on the baby monitor and pulled Kris down on the sofa for a neck rub and a forced nap.

*

Adam could always get by on very little sleep. Even on Idol, when they were being worked night and day until Kris wanted to weep from exhaustion, Adam was all right. Maybe he was a tiny bit cranky when his face was puffy in the mornings, but he could still sing and think and answer questions articulately long after Kris lost the ability. He could fly to Russia, do interviews on the plane, look gorgeous when he landed, be charming to fans at the airport, and give an amazing concert on little or no sleep. Kris, on the other hand, was like a hibernating animal unearthed in February if he didn’t get at least eight uninterrupted hours.

Adam knew this about Kris, which was why he insisted on taking night duty, but he didn’t count on Kris’s Spidey senses detecting every single noise Lucy made during the night. Anything more than a sigh from the cradle caused Kris to sit up, wide awake, and lurch unsteadily to the door. Earplugs didn’t help.

“Honey, I’ve got this. What do I need to do, tie you to the bed?” Adam said irritably when Kris stumbled in one night to find Adam rocking Lucy back to sleep.

The answer to that question was written all over Kris’s face.

“Oh!” Adam carefully placed slumbering Lucy in her bed, then led Kris back to their room.

Kris slept like the dead for the rest of the night. And every night after. Adam would do anything to protect the well-being of his family.

*

Lee Cherry had taken countless photos of Adam, both posed and candid, from club kid to rock god and everything in between. The camera loved Adam, but when Lee was the one behind the lens the camera positively worshipped him. When Kris entered the picture, so to speak, Lee had found him to be a somewhat reluctant subject, but when he was comfortable (meaning when he was looking at Adam) Kris’s face was truly priceless. Lee was the only choice, really, when they finally agreed to the People magazine exclusive.

They had agreed to it for a few reasons. First, they could do a lot of good in the world with the exorbitant amount of money the magazine was willing to pay. Second, they hoped it would clear some of the paparazzi off the street in front of their house. And third, they were kind of insanely proud of their beautiful daughter and wanted to show her off a little.

The formal shots were gorgeous. More than one narrow mind was wedged open just a bit by the cover photo of the little family, a perfect triangle of love. But one picture Lee slipped to Kris was for him alone: Adam, still damp from the shower and dressed only in black briefs, with Lucy cradled securely in one arm, and a finger hooked in the belt loop of Kris’s jeans as he pulled him in for a slow, sultry kiss. That picture Kris kept in the desk in his studio, in a folder marked _Inspiration/Why I’m the luckiest man alive._

*

Kris had always thought it would be kind of obvious which of them was the biological father. Their child would be a miniature version of one or the other, would express a clear preference for glitter or plaid.

In actuality, Lucy grew into a perfect blend of the two, or, more probably, a person entirely her own self. Dark, fluffy down gave way to rich apricot hair, and baby-blues turned to hazel. She was neither particularly small nor especially tall for her age, and her smooth golden skin was dusted with freckles. She had Kris’s easygoing nature, but Adam’s focus and intensity; Kris’s deadpan humor, but Adam’s bubbling laugh. Her precocious facility with all manner of musical instruments seemed to point to Kris. But as she grew older, her personality was so decidedly her own, as if she were determined to be herself, that Kris couldn’t help but think, with a great deal of satisfaction, that that made her Adam’s.

Their son, on the other hand, was Kris in miniature from the day he was born, and this was a neverending source of delight to Adam.

To most of the world, their second born was Neil Eber, but his Papa called him Kristopher Robin, which the family eventually shortened to just Robin. It was a well-known fact that Robin had Adam wrapped around his diminutive pinkie finger from an early age, but sweet-natured Robin rarely abused this power.

On one small matter, however, Robin chose to exert his not inconsiderable will. Robin, like Kris, was a cuddler, and from the time he was mobile, it was his habit to migrate to their California king bed sometime in the wee hours of the night. Dawn would invariably find Robin blissfully wedged between Adam and Kris, and this was not without its charm. Adam loved seeing Robin and Kris curled together like Russian nesting dolls, and the sight of Robin dozing on Adam’s chest, face planted firmly in his neck, invariably went straight to Kris’s heart.

As the months went by, they began to think nostalgically about morning sex. Kris tried carrying a sleeping Robin back to his room, but he popped awake as soon as he was delivered to his own bed, clinging to his daddy’s neck. They even tried sneaking out of their own bed and into the guestroom, but within minutes the doorknob was rattling and a tiny voice was calling, “Daddy? Papa?”

When Mama Allen came for a visit, she sized up the situation immediately. “You need to lay down the law,” she said. “Kristopher was exactly the same way. We had to limit family bed to Sunday mornings.”

“Hey, yeah,” Kris said slowly. “I remember that! Oh, that was because you and Dad--uh....” He turned pink.

Adam grinned, clearly enjoying Kris’s misery.

“We were resting,” Kim said firmly. “Rest is very important in a marriage.”

“I do really kind of miss the resting,” said Adam wistfully. “But how did you get Kris to, you know, stay in his own bed?”

“Oh, that was easy. He started sleeping with Daniel.”

But Lucy, in true Lucy form, liked her own space, so that wasn’t a good solution for them.

The solution presented itself via Cale, or, more specifically, in the form of Cale’s Golden Retriever, Lila. Robin had grown up with Lila, and when they were at Cale’s house it wasn’t unusual to find the two of them either romping in the yard or napping in a cozy puppy pile of two. When Cale mentioned that Lila was expecting puppies, a giant lightbulb appeared in a thought balloon over Kris’s head. He turned excitedly to Adam. Adam looked uncertain; over his head was a thought balloon filled with chewed up Rick Owens boots.

Ultimately, it wasn’t that difficult to keep the door to Adam’s shoe closet closed, and Roger was a perfect addition to the family and a warm and cuddly sleeping buddy for Robin. Sunday mornings were still family snuggle time; there was plenty of room for all five of them. And the rest of the week? Adam and Kris were free to lock the door and rest each other’s brains out.

*

“You kissed Uncle Tommy? Gross!” A horrified Lucy stared at the television screen.

Robin shrugged. “It was just to make all the girls scream. Right, Papa?”

“Yep. And it was before your dad and I were together. Never kissed anyone else since, and never will again, Lucy Lou.”

A tear ran down Lucy’s face.

“Lucy, sweetheart, what--”

“Don’t worry, Papa,” Robin said matter of factly, chewing on his Twizzler. “She’s just mad because she wants to marry Uncle Tommy.”

*

“I’ve got you.” Kris removed the chains around Adam’s neck and placed them on the bedside table, then undid the remaining buttons on Adam’s silvery shirt.

“Hey.” Adam grinned fondly. “I’m not drunk, you know. Just--”

“Tired and happy, I know.” He pressed a kiss to Adam’s collarbone. “I want to,” he said softly, and Adam stood still as Kris slipped the shirt off and draped it on a nearby chair, then sat him on the bed to remove his boots and socks. Kneeling on the floor, Kris paused with Adam’s foot in his hand, warm and a little damp, black polish making his skin seem even paler. He ran a finger over the wiry copper hairs on top of the foot and tickled the crooked big toe, just to hear Adam’s laugh.

When he looked up, Adam was smiling at him. Kris gently released the foot and laid his head in Adam’s lap. “I may be the only person alive who believes you’re a mere human tonight,” Kris teased, and Adam snorted, fingers combing through the soft hair at the nape of Kris’s neck.

“It’s just a Grammy, Kris.” But he was pleased.

“Just best album of the year. Just a killer performance and a standing ovation.” Kris looked up at him with full eyes. No need for more words, but he said, “I’m so proud of you, Adam,” and pressed a kiss to his knee, humbled by his love for this man, this rock god, with his pure heart and his mystical voice and his crooked toes.

Big hands pulled him up until he was lying in Adam’s arms on the bed, and Adam said, “That is by far the best, most important thing anyone has said to me all night. God, I love you, Kris. So much.”

Kris toed off his shoes and they just lay there for a long time. Kris traced the tattoos on Adam’s arm and knew what Adam was thinking, why he’d gone so quiet.

“He was just a dick reporter trying for a reaction. You know it’s bullshit,” Kris said softly.

 _So Kris, do you ever regret sacrificing your career for Adam’s?_ the reporter had asked, and Adam would have punched the guy in the face if Monty hadn’t steered him away.

Early on, they had had been over it many times. Fought about it, even, when Adam just couldn’t wrap his brain around the fact that Kris was really, truly OK with forgoing the tours, putting out fewer albums. “It doesn’t have to be like that,” Adam had insisted. “We can take turns going on the road, hell, we can--we can tour together and take them with us! Kris, I can’t--I don’t want you to sacrifice--”

But for Kris, going on tour would have been the sacrifice. Being away from Robin and Lucy, _that_ would have been a sacrifice. He wanted the quieter career. He wrote songs, for himself and other people. When he wanted to, he got to perform his music at small venues, for packed houses. He was slowly putting together another album, at his own pace and on his own terms, and his fans weren’t the kind to lose interest and wander off. It was good, thought Kris. It was perfect. Sure, he would have been just as happy to skip the media attention that went hand in hand with being Adam Lambert’s husband, but it was worth it. Adam was worth it all and more.

Tonight, it had been well worth navigating the red carpet and the dick reporter and the endless afterparties, just to hold Adam now in the quiet of their bedroom and share in his joy, to see up close the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.

Adam yawned and said, “I‘m taking a break, babe. Gonna be here with you and the kids. Lock you in the studio. Mow the lawn.” Kris laughed. “Fuck you every night. Starting tomorrow.”

Kris rolled off the bed and went into their bathroom for Adam’s jar of cleanser and some cotton balls. “Eyes closed,” he murmured, gently wiping away the iridescent blues and greens. He kissed the delicate skin as it appeared, the violet shadows under his eyes and the scars on his cheek. He thought of Adam glittering on stage with thousands of people screaming his name. He thought of Adam alone in his big bed in the back of the bus, pictures of Kris and the kids taped to the walls.

Kris threw away the rainbow streaked cotton. He peeled off Adam’s pants and maneuvered him under the bedcovers. “Fair warning,” Kris whispered. “Leila told me Lucy’s making you Skittles pancakes for a celebration breakfast in the morning. Which is in about...” Kris checked the clock. “Three hours.”

He shed his own clothes, turned out the light, and slipped in next to Adam. For a moment, everything was more vivid--the feeling of the crisp, cool sheets, the hum of the air coming through the vent, the sweet scent of Adam’s warm skin, even the darkness seemed _more_ , somehow, and Kris’s head rushed with the realization that this was life, this was...everything. A moment of pure sensation and clarity hovered like a hummingbird, and as Adam slept, Kris traced music on his arms and whispered love against his lips.


End file.
